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Scribe
Join Date: Jun 2005
Location: Canadian flatlands
Posts: 52
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Shivering
I've been on here for a while, and haven't posted any of my work. This'll be my first. Not a style that I normally write in, this was a 2 hour challenge given to me by another writer. I had to do a topic that had nothing to do with fantasy. I like how it turned out, C&C welcome.
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Shivering.
It was the first thing he felt as his mind regained its foothold. The cold bit at him, attacking any of his exposed skin with the sensation of red hot pinpricks. It snapped him awake, making him whimper in pain. He was scared, lonely and afraid. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Struggling to his feet in a desperate attempt to keep warm, he trotted back and forth in the snow, all the while keeping his eyes locked on his one escape from the unrelenting cold.
The Door, if only someone came and opened the Door. He wanted to scream for someone to come and let him into the old house, the first house he was ever able to call home. The lights that shone in the windows and through the Door were unnervingly warm and inviting, mocking him as he stood hunched over in the gathering darkness. Snorting loudly, he noticed he had stopped moving as he stood longing for the warmth that the house would give him. Returning to his pacing he forced his eyes away from the Door, concentrating on the snow crunching beneath his numb feet. He whimpered again, his feet were beginning to burn, and the wind was beginning to pick up from out of the east.
Trying to stifle the sounds, he realized it was too late when he noticed from out of the corner of his eye that the Door had opened. A massive shadow blocked the warm light. It was Him. He stepped out into the cold, His huge feet landing in the snow with a commanding and unforgiving crunch. In His hand was the usual companion, a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels, grasped at the neck in death grip.
“Didn’t I tell you to SHUT UP?!?” The behemoth bellowed.
Stopping dead in his tracks, he lowered his head, and his posture radiated fear. He was shaking, and this time it wasn’t due to the cold. Keeping his head down he kept his eyes glued to the feet. It was the feet that always brought the pain. He was learning to skitter out of the way in time, making sure the large foot would always come in contact with a part of him, but never allowing the foot to hit him solid enough to do too much damage. He learned long ago, however, to not allow the man to miss, either. If that happened, there would be no missing the next time. Or the time after that, or the time after that. No, given the opportunity that the man would be embarrassed like that, there would be nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The man always found him.
But the boot didn’t move this time. The man swayed a bit in the wind, his natural equilibrium disturbed by the poison coursing through His blood. And it also wasn’t the usual growling he would hear from the man. The man was snorting, His own twisted version of laughter.
Confused, he stayed locked in place, shivering. Hunched over from cold and fear, he refused to look up at the man, the laughter was unnerving him. He knew what to expect from the growling. The growling would prepare him. This laughter confused him.
Then it came, as a small droplet at first, he almost thought that he was imagining it. Glancing up quickly he saw it, the man had the bottle hovering, tipped haphazardly, and then with a splash, the contents drenched him. He coughed, the nasty taste was in his mouth, and his eyes began to burn as the liquid ran into them. Shocked, but daring not to move, he stood there, soaked from head to toe, pain flared up all over as the cold assaulted his skin where the liquid had touched. A whimper escaped him again, even though he tried desperately to clamp his mouth shut so nothing could escape.
Hearing a growl, and knowing what was coming, his mind screamed for him to move, but his body would not respond. As the foot made contact with his ribs, air left his lungs with a whoosh, and he fell backwards, snow grasping and biting at his soaked skin. He tried to struggle to his feet, but could only lay in the snow, allowing it to gnaw its way into his frozen flesh.
Hearing another guffaw of twisted laughter he saw that the man had already turned to head back into the house, the warm, inviting house. With a slamming of the Door he was left alone in the cruel biting snow. Closing his tired eyes he tried to look past the pain, tried to ignore it as best he could. Darkness was slowly invading his mind, and he tried to shake his head to clear himself of it. To his amazement however, his head wouldn’t listen to him. It stayed precisely where it wanted to, it would no longer be a slave to his every whim.
In the encroaching darkness he could hear a slight metallic jingle. Then another. Then another. He knew that sound. It was a good sound, a sound that filled his heart with happiness every time he heard it. It meant she was home. The one who would pull him out this murderous snow. The one who would warm him, hug him close to her, the one who would tell him that everything would be alright. He was just waiting for her hands to touch him, to warm his frozen skin and draw him close to her. But for some reason it never came.
Then sound hit him. She screamed. He was hitting her. Again.
Forcing his eyes open he searched the windows, and there he found the man, grasping her by the hair, screaming at her about His hunger, about the stress of His day. He then whipped her around to face Him, and assaulted her with a crush of His lips upon hers. She was stiff, not accepting the kiss, but not pushing away from Him either. If she did that, the consequences would be frightening.
He roughly pushed her away from Him, and then turned His back on her. She stood frozen, like a deer in headlights. Waiting to see if He would make another move, and finally resigning to the fact that He was intent on something out in the yard, she knelt to the floor, picking up the spilled contents of her grocery bag. Rising back to her feet, she noticed that the man was still concentrating on something out in the yard. Panic suddenly spread though her like wildfire.
“Wh-where is he?” She cried out, forgetting her own safety. The man ignored her.
“WHERE IS HE!?!” She screamed. The man stiffened, and turn to her with a murderous glint in His eyes. She subconsciously stepped back from Him.
“Don’t you DARE yell at me! Don’t you know who I am!?! Don’t you know what I can do to you?”
Outside, the snow assaulted his senses, his skin burned with every movement he made. But the man was hurting her. Again. Struggling to his feet, he whimpered. Loudly. He knew that it had gotten the attention of the man before, but now He seemed more intent on hurting her.
The he saw it. The Door. It was open! The man must have forgotten to lock like He always does. His ears burnt as a scream of pain assaulted them. He knew what he had to do.
Struggling to move forward, his frozen skin stretched painfully against his muscles, but he forced it out of his mind. Making it to the door, he pushed it open with his shoulder, ignoring the pain that threatened to engulf him. She needed him.
A wave of warmth hit him right in the face, causing his eyes to water as he quietly walked into the kitchen. It was deathly quiet. He quickly moved past the groceries that littered the floor once more and peeked into the living room. Nothing. The acrid stench of alcohol and stale smoke hung in the air, and with a huff he moved into the living room.
Another scream followed by a solid thud froze him in his tracks. It was coming from the bedroom. It always ended up in there. Peering through the doorway he saw the man pinning her down on the bed, forcing Himself upon her. She whimpered. He laughed.
With a growl he pushed his way through the half opened door, rage building inside of him, giving him a newfound strength. He attacked the man the only way he knew how, with the only weapon in his arsenal. He sank his teeth into the man’s fleshy right calf, tearing and ripping as much as he could.
Bellowing in pain the man’s attention flew to him, leaving her crying on the bed. Satisfied with the knowledge that she was okay for the moment he wasn’t prepared for the fist. It hit him alongside the head, making lights burst forth in his eyes. It made him lose his hold, and in a second the fist turned into a claw that wrapped around his neck and slammed him against the very solid wall.
Feeling the crush on his throat he struggled against the man, yelping with pain and anger. He couldn’t see, and he could feel the darkness growing again, threatening to over take him.
But it couldn’t. Not yet. She wasn’t safe, she wasn’t…
His train of thought was interrupted as he heard a solid thud, and then he was unceremoniously dropped to the floor, the crushing pain leaving his neck. As his eyes cleared he saw her standing there, holding a bloodied baseball bat, her breathing heavy but steady. Her tearstained face was fixed on the crumpled heap of the man, He was unmoving, but still breathing.
Suddenly he could feel arms around him, warming him from the inside out. Her tears hit his skin and he looked into her eyes, assuring her that everything was going to be alright. The next few minutes were a blur, but it seemed like in an instant he was back out in the cold, now wrapped in a warm blanket, sitting beside her in her old car as they pulled out of the driveway. The back seat was littered with photo albums and a suitcase, and the groceries that were all over the kitchen floor just moments ago.
Reaching behind Her, She grabbed one of the packages and ripped it open with Her teeth. Dropping the contents onto the seat he quickly gobbled them up and then laid his head back on Her lap.
Snausages, they were his favorite.
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"Pleased to meet you, hope you guessed my name..."
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